Darwin's breath came out in sharp wisps as the morning dragged toward noon. His shoulders trembled from the repetition, his palms throbbed, and the muscles on his left side screamed louder than the wind.
But Grajisk showed no mercy.
"Again," the blacksmith ordered.
Darwin tightened his grip and swung. This time he let his body's natural imbalance pull him leftward, allowing the blade to follow the curve instead of fighting it.
A faint whoosh sliced through the frozen air.
"Good," Grajisk muttered. "Again."
Darwin obeyed.
He swung until his fingers slipped on the handle.
Swung until sweat froze on his skin.
Swung until his left leg felt like stone.
Swung until his cuts curved cleanly through the air, drawing elegant arcs he hadn't intended.
Every time the blade passed before his eyes, he felt… something.
A pull.
A whisper.
A strange faintness on the left side of his vision.
He ignored it and kept swinging.
When the sun had barely risen above the treetops, Grajisk finally raised a hand.
"Enough. Break."
Darwin exhaled, dropping to sit on the stump. His arms twitched involuntarily.
Grajisk watched him, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "Tell me what you felt."
"Balance," Darwin said without thinking. "Not the world's balance. Mine."
The blacksmith smirked. "Good. You're finally listening to your body instead of fighting it."
Darwin looked down at his hands. Bruised. Raw. But steady.
"Why did it take this long?" he asked quietly.
Grajisk shrugged. "Because you're stubborn. You've spent your whole life trying to force yourself into shapes that didn't fit you."
Darwin stiffened.
That sentence hit too close.
Shapes that didn't fit him…
He had lived his whole childhood trying to be someone acceptable in the Elkevis household. Someone normal. Someone with mana. Someone who wasn't rejected for being born empty.
He swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. "When I fought the Ice Hound… I wasn't thinking. My body moved on its own. There was something in that moment—like instinct."
"And you trusted it," Grajisk said.
"That's what kept me alive," Darwin replied. "Not skill. Not training. Instinct pulled me through."
Grajisk chuckled. "Instinct meets desperation. A powerful combination."
Darwin looked up. "Is that… normal for swordsmanship?"
The older man scratched the back of his head. "Normal? Hardly. But the greatest fighters don't mimic others—they discover movements that only they can make."
Darwin looked away, gripping his knees. The cold stung his fingers.
His body… his imbalance… his instincts…
Everything he had been ashamed of…
Could they truly become strength?
He felt confusion curling inside him like smoke.
Grajisk rested a hand on his shoulder. "You have something unusual in you, boy. I don't know what, but your body isn't fighting the blade. It's guiding it."
Darwin flinched slightly at the sudden warmth of the man's hand. Grajisk pretended not to notice.
The blacksmith stood up. "Break's over. Time for footwork."
Darwin groaned but obeyed.
---
Grajisk tossed a stick into the snow, carving lines on the ground. "Follow the pattern."
The pattern wasn't symmetrical.
It was a winding set of curves, loops, and side-steps—nothing like the standard straight-line drills he had seen swordsmen from afar perform.
Darwin blinked. "Why this shape?"
"Because you move like this," Grajisk said bluntly. "I watched you for days. Your body naturally drifts. So your footwork should too."
Darwin stepped onto the pattern.
His first steps were awkward. He stumbled twice.
By the tenth step, his breathing synced with the movement.
By the thirtieth, he wasn't thinking at all.
Left step—pull.
Right step—push.
Drag—tilt—pivot—curve.
His body flowed through the pattern like it belonged there.
Grajisk crossed his arms and nodded slowly.
Darwin didn't notice.
He was too focused on the faint sensation building beneath his skin—a subtle pull of gravity toward his left side. Not tight, not painful… more like a whisper guiding him forward.
He inhaled and repeated the motion, faster now.
Curve—shift—tilt—swing—pivot—
The snow beneath his feet scattered.
The wind seemed to hush.
Everything—his stance, his imbalance, his breath—fell into place for a single heartbeat.
And then—
A sharp sting shot through his ribs. Darwin stumbled and crashed into the snow.
"Too fast," Grajisk said, walking over. "Your body's still not ready for that speed."
Darwin groaned, clutching his side. But he couldn't help the small, breathless laugh that escaped him.
Because for a moment… a tiny moment…
He had felt complete.
Not broken.
Not flawed.
Not rejected.
Whole.
Grajisk offered his hand. Darwin hesitated, then used it to pull himself up.
"You felt it, didn't you?" the older man asked.
Darwin didn't look up. "Yes."
"That moment when your body stops resisting and starts moving freely—that's your foundation. Build on that."
Darwin nodded.
The strange whisper inside him pulsed again.
---
As dusk painted the forest in soft orange light, Darwin sat alone on the stump, staring at the faint trails his footwork had carved into the snow.
Curved lines.
Imperfect paths.
Shifting steps.
It looked chaotic at first glance.
Yet… something about it felt natural.
He traced one of the lines with his gloved finger, letting the cold burn his skin.
"Why… why does it feel right?" he whispered to himself. "Why does imbalance feel like balance to me?"
He thought of his childhood.
The way his body shook under pressure.
The way nobles looked at him like a broken object.
The way his family whispered that he was a mistake.
He clenched his fists.
"Why didn't I ever question it?" he muttered. "Why didn't I wonder why my body moves like this? Why I fight like this?"
Why did it take near-death and a snowstorm for him to ask these questions?
The wind answered with silence.
Darwin's breath clouded the air.
Maybe… maybe his body had been trying to speak to him all along.
Trying to warn him.
Trying to guide him.
Maybe everything he had been forced to correct his whole life was never wrong to begin with.
His heartbeat slowed as a realization settled into his bones:
*The world had always called him flawed.*
*But his body… it wasn't fighting him.*
*It was waiting for him to listen.*
Darwin sat there a long time, letting that truth sink in.
When the cabin door opened and Grajisk called him for dinner, Darwin finally stood.
His steps felt lighter.
Not because he had grown stronger—
but because he had begun to accept himself.
And acceptance was the first step toward transformation.